


Something Special for Forty

by Kryptaria



Series: If You Were... 'verse outtakes and cut scenes [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: AU, F/M, Fluff, If You Were 'verse, If You Were Mine outtake, Light BDSM, Mild Kink, Spanking, repost
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-25
Updated: 2012-06-25
Packaged: 2017-11-08 13:28:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/443677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kryptaria/pseuds/Kryptaria
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Helen Clark plans on spending her fortieth birthday at home with friends. After reading Helen's secret fanfic, though, her friends buy her a special present - a night with Captain Watson.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Something Special for Forty

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Chwiniol](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Chwiniol).



> Apologies for reposting this, but If You Were... is expanding as an AU, and this is necessary for organization. I hate to lose the comments from the old version, but hopefully this will work better in the long run!

**Saturday, 20 Feb 2010**

Freezing rain lashed the windows of the taxi. The heater wasn’t quite up to the task of driving back the chill, and Helen Clark pulled her coat tight with one gloved hand, the other clutching the tiny purse that matched her shoes.

 _Forty years old, and you’re acting like a teenager,_ she thought, a mix of trepidation and excitement making her very glad for the single drink she’d had. It helped take the edge off, though she thought she could’ve done with another.

For her fortieth, it had been a pretty good night so far. The rain was something she’d come to expect, England’s own little birthday treat just for her. More than once, she’d been scolded for getting her birthday dresses covered in mud.

She’d planned on spending tonight at home. The kids were at her mother’s house. Dinner, a stack of DVDs, and a good bottle of wine, all shared with three of her closest girlfriends.

And then, the plan had gone out the window.

Nicole, Sadie, and Leticia had swept in like a tornado, coaxing Helen out of her sensibly warm jumper and comfy blue jeans and into a little black dress that she had to admit was flattering, despite the two stone or so that she’d put on since uni.

Then came the gifts. She’d cried when Nicole had presented her with a pair of absurdly expensive shoes that she’d been admiring a week earlier. Lecia gave her earrings, and Sadie gave her a handbag to match the shoes, just large enough to carry her keys, wallet, and a lipstick.

And then it had been a whirlwind. Dinner at a Japanese restaurant, where the teppan chef had flirted mercilessly with her upon discovering it was her birthday, followed by a trip to a trendy new nightclub, where Sadie breezed them past the bouncer. (“It’s good to have contacts in the media,” Sadie declared with a cheeky grin.)

Helen was looking forward to dancing, maybe flirting with a few of the guys that were eyeing her. Her marriage was happy but strained. Terell was a good man. It was just his work took him all over the world for weeks at a time, and while his homecomings had been like honeymoons in the early days of their marriage, things had started going downhill lately.

She was bored. Oh, she had her book club and her volunteer work at the youth shelter. She had her friends and garden and her nieces and nephews. But sometimes, she wanted... _more_. Things Terell wouldn't give her. He was strictly a lights-out-missionary-position type, which was fine. It really was. Usually.

Well, no sense thinking about that. She finished her drink and made it one step toward the dance floor when Lecia caught her hand. “Not so fast!”

“I don’t want to spend my birthday throwing up in the loo,” Helen protested as Nicole and Sadie abandoned their drinks to surround her, one on either side.

“No more drinks at all for you,” Lecia agreed, grinning like a fiend.

“We’re not done with the surprises,” Nicole said.

With a flourish, Sadie reached into her low-cut top and pulled out a little card — the type of little card that came with a bunch of flowers, complete with a tiny envelope. “So far, it’s all been a warm-up, love. _This_ is our real present.”

“Oh, God, you don’t have to!” Helen protested, holding up her hand.

“Don’t you dare try and say no,” Lecia warned.

Nicole leaned close and whispered in Helen’s ear, “Though it might be good to have a safeword in mind.”

A fiery blush rose up in Helen’s cheek, making her grateful for the dusky skin that had been her father’s genetic contribution. It was enough to hide the blush in the low light of the nightclub. “What?”

“We’re your best mates,” Sadie insisted, taking hold of Helen’s hand and folding her fingers around the little card. “We know all your secrets. Including your writing.”

“Oh, my God,” Helen said in a tiny voice, almost lost under the pounding music. She closed her eyes tightly, absolutely mortified.

Her three friends laughed warmly. Nicole hugged her as Sadie patted her hand. “It’s all right,” Lecia insisted. “Watching _The Half-Blood Prince_ will never be the same.”

“Oh, my God,” she repeated, stumbling along with them as they bundled her away from the bar.

The ladies’ wasn’t too quiet, but at least this early in the night, there was room to breathe. Laughing, they teased her about her writing (“Draco and Ron? Really?”) and fixed up her makeup and hair. As they did, she remembered the little card and opened it.

It was a name she didn’t recognize — Captain Watson — and an address in the posh St. John’s Wood neighborhood, one she didn’t remember. Embossed in one corner was a swirling script letter A. Below was a handwritten date (20/2) and time (ten o’clock).

It was now just past nine.

Her eyes kept going back to the A. She didn’t know the name of this Captain Watson and the address wasn’t familiar, but that A... She’d seen it once before, on Nicole’s calendar. A little card with an A, pinned there as an appointment reminder...

“Oh, my God...”

“You keep saying that,” Nicole pointed out.

Helen turned to look at her, wide-eyed. “This — this is —”

“Irene Adler’s, yes.”

Tingles swept through her body. “But — But I’m not —”

“We know,” Lecia said, amused. “You’ll notice that your appointment is _not_ with Miss Adler.”

Helen’s eyes went to the name. _Captain Watson_.

“I saw him last time I was there,” Nicole said. “You’ll adore him. Trust me.”

And now the taxi was turning down a street lined with white townhouses on one side and the dark shapes of trees on the other. And then the taxi stopped, and Helen looked out through the rain to see steep steps and soaring columns and warm golden light pouring over a black door with a polished brass knocker.

Helen’s heart pounded. Lecia had made a point of paying the driver, saying that Helen’s only responsibility for the night was to _enjoy herself_. All she had to do was open the door and step out into the rain.

Still, she had her credit cards in her purse. It wasn’t too late for her to tell the driver to turn around and take her back home. Or she could go up those steps and knock on the black lacquered door and explain that this was all a terrible misunderstanding. She might even be able to talk them into refunding her friends’ money, or perhaps giving Nicole some sort of credit, because she knew this had to be terribly expensive.

She was shaking just a bit as she exited the taxi and hurried through the rain to the shelter of the porch. Her gloves must have made her clumsy, because she fumbled to get hold of the door knocker.

When the door opened suddenly, at the second knock, she couldn’t hide a squeak of alarm.

The woman who answered wore a smart dress suit in navy blue. Auburn hair was swept up into a bun, and she had a warm smile.

“Oh, God, I’m sorry,” Helen said at once, thinking she’d gotten the wrong address. “I was looking for number forty-four.”

“Not at all. Mrs. Clark?” the woman asked.

Helen’s heart skipped. She nodded, too nervous to speak.

“Please come in, ma’am. I’m Kate.”

 

~~~

 

Helen’s dress rode up alarmingly as she carefully lowered herself to her knees on the thick carpet at the foot of a gorgeous antique bed. The room was warm, a fire glowing in the hearth set between two windows. The room was done up in rich, dark wood and deep jewel tones — the type of masculine room that existed only in furniture showrooms and period dramas. Helen bit back a slightly hysterical giggle, wanting to check if there was a stuffed stag’s head mounted over the  fireplace, but she didn’t. Instead, she bowed her head as she’d been instructed and listened to her heart pounding over the crackle of the fire.

It couldn’t have been more than a minute before she heard footsteps, but it felt like hours. She looked up just long enough to see a man had entered through a door on the far side of the room. Black slacks, blue button-down shirt, a cane — the walking stick type, rather than that _other_ type, the kind she’d read about but had never actually seen. Sandy hair and kindly eyes that narrowed in a way that sent flutters through her body.

Quickly, she bowed her head again, licking lips suddenly gone dry.

He didn’t say anything. He walked toward her with slow, measured steps. Polished shoes came into her vision as he paused in front of her. Then he moved away, circling around behind her, and she suddenly realized how _ridiculous_ this was. She was a grown woman, married, not some slender, beautiful young woman who would be gorgeous like this. No, she was too heavy and too old and too _ordinary_.

And yet, here she was on her knees before some man she’d never met, one who hadn’t even introduced himself. It was as if if she were some sort of... of... _Pet,_ came the whisper from the depths of her mind. _Submissive._ ___Pleasure slave._

She bit her lip hard as the flutters in her body moved lower.

“God, you’re beautiful like this,” he said from close behind her, standing over her.

She couldn’t hide her flinch of surprise. Her head came up again, twisting to look back over her shoulder, and this time, she saw he was smiling at her. He had a lovely smile, one that transformed his face, bringing a bright sparkle of mischief to his eyes.

Looking up into his eyes, she could believe that he actually _meant_ it. That he wasn’t saying it just because he’d been paid to pretend.

He reached down and brushed his fingers over her cheek. “What’s your safeword?”

Kate had asked that as well, as if it were a normal, everyday sort of question. May I take your coat? Would you like some tea? What’s your safeword? Helen had answered without thinking, though once the word was out, the reality of it all hit home, and she had turned quickly away, blushing furiously.

Now, the blush was back, but she couldn’t move away. She pressed into his touch like a cat seeking attention, softly saying, “Stardust.”

“‘Stardust’. If you say that, this all stops for as long as you’d like. You understand that, don’t you?” he asked.

There was something gently reassuring about his tone. She nodded.

“Say it. ‘Yes, Captain’ or ‘no, Captain’,” he corrected, still in that same calm voice.

 _Oh, God,_ she thought, leaning into his touch, sparks of lightning tingling down her spine. “Yes, Captain,” she said, and though the logical, rational, everyday part of her mind was saying that this was absolutely _ridiculous,_ the rest of her was most definitely not interested in logic.

His fingers moved from her cheeks to her mouth, thumb gently swiping over her lower lip. She couldn’t keep from pursing her lips as if to kiss.

Then she thought, _What the hell?_ and did, closing her eyes as she pressed her lips against his finger. She could smell soap and taste his skin, and the _newness_ of it made her shiver. It was thrilling and exciting, a fantasy that had lived in her brain for so long, she couldn’t remember when she’d first dreamed of something like this. But hopeful encounters with boyfriends during school had yielded nothing but irritation and misunderstandings, and then she’d met Terell — shy, sweet, clever Terell — and she’d boxed the fantasy up and put it on a high shelf, letting it come out only in her apparently-not-so-secret writing.

“Good girl,” Captain Watson approved quietly, pushing his thumb a little deeper into her mouth, until the tip touched her lower teeth, opening her mouth just a bit.

Greatly daring, she let her tongue touch the tip of his thumb, and watched as his smile turned sly.

Then he withdrew his hand and walked back around in front of her and then away, to the armchair near one of the windows. The cane touched the carpet with every step of his right foot, but he barely seemed to be leaning on it.

He had, she noticed just a bit wickedly, an absolutely perfect arse.

He turned suddenly, as though reading her thoughts, and she looked down, embarrassed to be caught staring. She looked up when she heard him sit down, and she started to rise, before catching herself. Even though she’d never done this, etiquette learned from a hundred websites and stories and fanfics told her that she shouldn’t do _anything_ without his permission.

“Stand up, love. Take off your shoes and stockings. Leave them by the door.”

The heat in her belly turned into butterflies. She stood carefully, putting a hand on the nearest bedpost for balance, and her thoughts got all scrambled when she saw a coil of red rope, thick and soft-looking, was right there, one end tied around the post.

“Helen,” Captain Watson said a bit more sharply.

She snapped back out of her thoughts and hurried to slip her feet out of her shoes. Then she froze, realizing she’d have to ruck up her dress to remove her stockings.

He was watching her intently, one corner of his mouth quirked up. With one hand, he made a little get-on-with-it motion. “Don’t make me repeat myself, love,” he said in that same gentle, calm tone. “I didn’t want to spank you just yet, but I absolutely will.”

 _Please,_ she thought as the world went still. She very nearly said it, except she had no breath with which to speak. He’d said ‘yet’. That meant he was planning on it. She’d never — she’d _written_ about it, of course, but she’d never...

And she _wanted_.

Her hands trembled as she tugged up the hem of her dress. She managed a little modesty, pulling it up higher in the back than the front, so she could hook her thumbs into the waistband of her stockings. As soon as she had them down over her hips, she smoothed the skirt back down. Only then did she lower the stockings, pull them off her feet, and shove them haphazardly, wadded up, into one of her shoes.

He hadn’t looked away — not even for a second. In fact, he was watching her as if he wanted nothing more than to see every inch, as if the sight of her were a special treat... The way Terell had looked at her in the early years of their marriage, before she’d put on weight and had to start dyeing the grey out of her hair, before they’d seen each other first thing in the morning and with stomach flu and all the other things that had stripped the mystery out of their marriage, replacing it with comfortable familiarity.

Now, Captain Watson was looking at Helen as if it were his birthday, not hers, and she was the present he couldn’t wait to unwrap.

His smile turned wicked as he said, “I repeat: Leave them by the door.”

 _Oh, God,_ she thought, brain scrambling all over again as she was torn between wanting and fear. She crouched and got her shoes, hurrying barefoot over the thick carpet to put her shoes where instructed.

“Come over here,” he said, beckoning to her as he rose, leaving the cane leaning against the armchair.

Nervously, she did, feeling clumsy and awkward. He was only a couple of inches taller than her but broad-shouldered and powerful. “I didn’t —”

“Don’t speak,” he interrupted, and she snapped her mouth shut to hide her little gasp. “Turn around.”

With a little shiver, she did, amazed at how smoothly and easily he’d taken control of everything. She twitched in surprise when she felt his hand on the back of her neck, holding her just firmly enough for her to feel the strength into his fingers. It turned into a shiver as he unzipped her dress with one hand, using the other to part the soft fabric. His fingers traced down her spine, over the strap of her bra, to stop at the end of the zipper.

“Absolutely gorgeous,” he said, his breath ghosting warm over her ear.

She bit her lip to keep from thanking him as she leaned back, feeling the solid warmth of his body against her from shoulders to hips. _Oh, dear God,_ she thought as her behind pressed into his erection, and some of her fear melted away. He wanted her — he really did want her.

He eased the straps of her dress over her shoulders, hands following the fabric as it slipped over her skin. She felt herself blush when it caught up on her waist, but he just kept drawing it down until it was at her hips. His fingers dipped below the fabric to toy with the thong she’d put on thoughtlessly, not because she’d expected anyone to see it but because she didn’t like the look of panty lines under a dress.

Suddenly, she was very, very glad for that touch of vanity.

“Wicked girl, hiding this,” he teased as his hand slid to around to touch the strap that dipped down between her cheeks. He pushed his hand lower and the dress suddenly slid free to fall over her legs, leaving her exposed.

His left hand slid over her curves possessively while his right came around in front of her, holding her tight against him, fingers splayed over her abdomen. She tried to suck in her belly, though she knew it was a losing battle.

Then she forgot all about it as his lips found the back of her neck. She exhaled, long and shuddery, eyes falling closed. He laughed quietly, saying, “Beautiful. But I had to repeat myself, love. Do you know what I’m going to do next?”

She nodded jerkily, biting her lip again.

“Say it.”

“Spank me,” she said tightly.

 _This is silly,_ said that voice of logic and reason, but it was much softer now. Grown woman, adult, not some child to be scolded... All the protests seemed very distant, buried under the reality of this man — this _stranger_ — who was holding her.

He made a soft sound of assent, and the kiss against her throat turned into a sharp little nip, right where her neck met her shoulder. She groaned and melted back against him, her skin tingling. Her nipples went hard and sensitive, pressing hard against the plain black bra she wore.

“Ask me for it,” he urged softly. “Ask politely.”

The tingles turned to heat, and she pressed her legs together, knowing her thong was damp. “Please,” she whispered.

For a few seconds, he simply held her. Then the hand on her belly moved down, fingers just touching the lace at the top of her thong. “Please _what?_ ”

He really was going to make her say it. She was mortified and thrilled and realized she was trembling with need.

“Please, spank me,” she said, before remembering to add, “Captain.”

He turned and kissed the side of her neck, and then whispered into her ear, “Good girl.”

She expected to move, maybe for him to sit back down and pull her over his lap, and the idea was a little terrifying. She’d never keep her balance. She wasn’t a child. She _couldn’t_ let him do this. She could say her safeword and this would all stop.

But she didn’t.

A sharp, light _smack_ against her left buttock scattered her thoughts, making her jump in surprise. It didn’t hurt so much as tingle. His right arm held her tight and still as his hand came down again, this time gently, rubbing over skin that was suddenly over-sensitive.

“One more for now,” he said after a few seconds. He shifted just a little bit, no longer behind her but off to her side, and his hand moved with his steps, now covering her right buttock. “It’s not too much, is it?”

She shook her head, and a squeeze of his hand reminded her to say, “No, Captain.” Her voice was breathless and soft.

He kissed her throat again as his hand fell away, and she braced herself, suddenly glad for the arm around her, holding her close.

His hand landed, another sharp sting, perhaps a tiny bit harder this time. She jumped, a tiny sound escaping her throat before she pressed her lips closed.

“Very good girl,” he said, rubbing the sting away as he closed his lips around the shell of her ear. “I want you to go to the bed now. Take off the rest of your clothes and your earrings. Put them on the nightstand. Then kneel at the side of the bed, facing it, and wait for me. Do you understand?”

The heat rising in her turned into a tidal wave of longing. She nodded, leaning against him, and said, “Yes, Captain.”

 

~~~

 

**Sunday, 21 Feb 2010**

Helen was still trembling as Captain Watson zipped her into her dress. His arm was around her again, holding her steady, and as soon as the dress was fastened, she turned to press herself against his body.

“Thank you, Captain,” she whispered, self-conscious and embarrassed but in a distant sort of way. Her whole body felt languid and heavy, like she could sleep for a week.

“It was my pleasure,” he said, holding her close, one hand toying with the hairs at the back of her neck, still damp from her bath. He turned enough to press a kiss to her hair, which he’d brushed with surprising gentleness.

When she felt a bit steadier, she stepped back and looked shyly up at him. He relaxed his embrace and let his hands fall to her hips. That wicked little smile of his was back, making her body tingle all over again.

She had no idea what to say. She hadn’t seen his body and she didn’t know his name or who he was or anything at all about him. He’d taken off his shoes and rolled up his sleeves, but he’d never undressed and never let her touch him.

And he’d seen her utterly bare, buttocks red from his hand as she stammered to count through the spanking. He’d bound her to the bed with those soft red ropes and pinched her nipples with clamps that bit. He’d blindfolded her with soft fabric that soaked up her tears of desperation, reducing her world to teasing touches and empty longing until she begged for his fingers and the vibrator that had shattered her whole world. Afterward, he’d untied her and held her close in silence, petting her hair, before he helped her into a hot bath and washed her body.

He leaned down and pressed a gentle, almost chaste kiss to her lips. “Happy birthday, Helen,” he said quietly.

She laughed and said, “Thank you, Captain.”

He offered her his left arm and escorted her downstairs, leaning lightly on his cane. Kate met them in the foyer, saying, “Your car is waiting, Mrs. Clark.”

Captain Watson held Helen’s coat for her to put it on, and then turned her around so he could button it closed. He brushed his hand over one of the coat pockets and found the gloves she’d put there, which he removed and offered to her in silent command. She tucked her purse under her arm and put the gloves on as he put on his coat, apparently intending to escort her out.

Kate handed over her umbrella, now dry. Feeling self-conscious — Kate obviously knew what had happened  — Helen said, “Thank you,” and allowed Captain Watson to lead her outside.

He insisted on holding the umbrella for her and made her take the stairs slowly, which was probably a good thing. She was still a little shaky and tired and very, very content.

The car wasn’t a black taxi, but a hired sedan. The driver opened the back door for her and stepped out of the way.

“Good night, Helen,” Captain Watson said softly.

Helen blushed and wanted to kiss him, but she didn’t think it was appropriate. “I’d like — That is, perhaps I could come back...”

He hadn’t offered her a card before, but he did now, taking a little card holder from the inside pocket of his coat. He took out a business card and handed it to her. “I’d like that very much,” he said quietly.

Blushing all over again, she got into the car, leaning the umbrella against the seat. She watched through the tinted windows as Captain Watson went back into the house as the driver went back to the steering wheel and pulled the car away from the kerb.

She found the reading light overhead and pressed it so she could look at the card. It was just a phone number, watermarked with the letter A.

 _Very discreet,_ she thought, deciding to keep it in her jewelry box, knowing that one day, she’d call again. Perhaps for her birthday next year, she’d treat herself.


End file.
